


Vertex, Apex

by RedScribbler



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (for now) - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Canon Compliant, Communication, Episode 194: Parting, Episode 198: Precipice, Episode Tag, M/M, Missing Scene, Written after 198, season five, season five spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 14:15:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedScribbler/pseuds/RedScribbler
Summary: MARTINSo… are we going to talk about it, or…?ARCHIVISTWhen we get back to London. I don’t – I think we all need some time to think.~Hidden in the tunnels, they finally talk about it. A coda to 194 and 198.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 91





	Vertex, Apex

**Author's Note:**

> okay i know i have a safehouse fic to update but i started thinking about the boys properly apologising to each other after their fight and this came out - it could get jossed in a week's time but enjoy for now
> 
> i scream about the latest eps at https://red-archivist.tumblr.com/

As soon as they sit down to talk, Basira falls asleep. 

The cloaking effect of the tunnels has allowed exhaustion to exist again and she slumps backwards mid-sentence. It’s only the bulk of her backpack that stops her head from slamming on the hard stone and Martin rushes forward to put her in the recovery position.

He is only able to fret for a second before Jon reminds him that this is the first chance her body has gotten since the Change to rest.

“Will she be alright?” Georgie asks from behind him.

Jon looks Basira over. Rather, he looks at her, straining against the muting tunnels for an answer.

“She’ll be alright in a couple of hours -or what passes for hours down here,” He helps Martin take her bag off her back, “She’ll be more annoyed with herself than anything else, when she wakes.”

“So Basira needs a nap,” Melanie grumbles, “What now?”

“We wait. I want us all to talk together,” Jon stands slowly, “And frankly, we could use a rest as well.”

Melanie snorts disapprovingly but Martin can hear her heart isn’t in it. She is too worn-down to muster any real anger. Guilt eats at the edges of his mind.

He heaves himself upright as Georgie passes Jon a brown bottle. 

“Want one?” She asks him, holding out another.

When he shakes his head, she pops off the lid herself and takes a swig before passing it to Melanie to sip from. Jon gropes for his hand and leads him out of the little room without a word, down the corridor to another quiet dusty space.

“What are we doing?” Martin whispers as Jon plops down on the ground.

“I need a break,” He mutters, “Ankle is still at me.”

He opens his beer and takes a long drink, wrinkling his nose at the taste.

Martin slips off his bag and sits beside him. A sharp twinge lances up his side and he winces. He shattered his pelvis jumping off the cliff and even though he knows it has already healed, there is still a phantom tenderness in his hips.

Side-by-side, they sit in silence as Jon slowly drinks.

The room they have found themselves in is bare apart from some broken shelves and a thin sheet of fabric on the floor. It is crumpled in the vague shape of a body. Martin idly wonders which of the cult members slept here. His thoughts stray down that avenue. Someone might have been here when they were taken; ripped out of their rest by a cyclopean wraith or living camera. Would they be put back in the domains they were rescued from? Or just thrown into the guts of ever-vigilant London to feed its Master?

A shudder rolls down his spine. 

He catches Jon watching him from the corner of his eye. When he swallows his mouthful of beer, Martin can see the slim column of his neck move.

“You want to know?” Jon asks suddenly, nodding at the blanket.

It takes Martin a moment to realise what he means.

Jon knows exactly what happened to the cult. He probably knew the instant Georgie told them they had been taken. All the fear, shock, and pain of the attack has been planted straight into his head and he can never forget it.

Martin screws his eyes shut and shakes his head. 

“I don’t.”

His voice doesn’t shake but it’s a close thing. Every time he thinks he has seen the worst of what the end of the world has to offer, something proves him wrong. He knew the tunnels weren’t exactly safe, but they had felt like it. Even if the people down here had coped in strange ways, they had been free. The little spark of hope Martin keeps cradled close to his chest had flared brightly knowing that.

He draws his legs up, resting his chin on his knees.

With a shrug, Jon drains the beer bottle and puts it down. As soon as his hands are free, he crosses his arms and leans into Martin’s side. In the cold of the tunnels, his body heat feels like a brand. 

He shuffles a bit, making himself comfortable and Martin wonders if he would be allowed put his arm around him to bring him closer. 

Before he can ask, Jon sighs.

“I’m ready to talk about it,” He says, “If you are.”

He almost wishes he had asked about the cult’s abduction. Hearing about other people’s torture would have spared him his own.

Martin has known this was coming ever since he felt Jon’s footsteps echo through Annabelle’s web. He might have already accepted Martin’s reasoning for following her to Hilltop Road but they both know that’s not the only thing they need to talk about. 

Jon has been patient with him. If he said he still wasn’t ready, he might get away with it. He indulges in the fantasy of not having to have a difficult conversation for a moment, before letting it go with a sigh. Once Basira wakes up, he knows they won’t have a chance to talk like this for a long time. All he can hope is that this won’t be the last time. 

“Okay,” He says.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Jon sits upright and Martin immediately misses his warmth. He turns so that he is facing Martin directly, clearing his throat.

“First and foremost,” Jon stares him dead in the eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Martin freezes.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did back in the Panopticon,” Jon continues, heedless, “I wasn’t thinking straight, I was just… panicking a bit. But I took that out on you and that wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”

His tone is remorseful, but his gaze is fierce. It’s hard to keep looking at him.

“Jon…”

“I know… I know replacing Jonah isn’t an option. Giving the Eye what it wants and just changing around who gets tortured isn’t right. I should never have suggested it. I’m sorry for that too.”

Martin’s breath is caught in his lungs. His stomach lurches with a sudden nausea.

Jon drops his gaze and takes a deep breath as if he is bracing for something.

“Now. I have a question. I don’t want to compel the answer out of you, so I need you to be honest with me.”

“…Of course.”

Martin expects him to stare again. Instead, Jon keeps his eyes down and wraps his arms tighter around his waist. He licks his lips nervously.

“Do you trust me?”

He practically whispers the words.

Pain lances through Martin like a spike. 

His first instinct is to sputter indignantly, to tell him yes of course he trusts him, to ask how Jon could even think such a silly question. 

Before the Panopticon, that might have even been the truth.

Martin hadn’t even consider that it wasn’t until Jon spoke.

True to his word, there is no compulsion in Jon’s question. It still feels like the answer is being pulled out of him like a rotten tooth. A festering, painful infection that hurts to poke at. His heart aches when he thinks about what his answer is.

Jon squirms in place.

“Martin?”

“Give me- Give me a moment.”

Jon nods stiffly.

He should look at him when he says this. That would be the decent thing to do. 

He doesn’t.

“I… I want to trust you.”

“…But?” Jon’s voice is brittle.

“But I-,” The words stick in his throat, “I don’t think I… Not e-entirely?”

The tunnels don’t echo. They swallow noise and as soon as Martin finishes talking, a heavy silence falls, the weight of his words bearing down on his shoulders.

“…I see,” Jon says without inflection.

Martin is immediately struck by his own words. He hadn’t really felt them before they were spoken but, in his gut, he knows they are true. There is a part of him that doesn’t trust Jon and he hates himself for it. 

Jon has been through enough without yet another person doubting him, nevermind the man who loves him. You aren’t supposed to distrust the people you love, Martin is sure.

It’s difficult to keep his breathing steady. He risks a glance at Jon’s face, an ache building in his chest.

Jon still won’t look at him. His gaze is fixed firmly on the ground and devastation is written all over his face. He keeps his arms wound tightly around himself and hunches his shoulders as if making himself smaller will protect him. The worst thing, however, is that he doesn’t seem surprised.

Martin feels like a monster.

All his breath leaves him as he rushes to justify himself.

“It’s not-! It’s not y-you exactly, it’s-” He waves a hand vaguely towards the ceiling, “It’s the Eye, it has this hold on you and I’m just so scared you’re going to be lost to it and-”

“I haven’t so far,” Jon mumbles, his lip twisting in a slight sneer.

“You didn’t see your face up there! What happened to Jonah-! You wanted that! I saw it!”

“So what if I did!”

Jon whips his head up to glare at him. 

“Is that what you want to hear?” He hisses, “That I was envious! Because I was, alright? I was. This whole- Ugh, this whole journey I have been trying so hard to not give in to Beholding. It’s been calling me here all this time to take my place with it. And yes, there is a part of me that wants that. It would be so easy to give in. To stop caring about this world and other people and my own pain.”

Jon’s hands dig into his own sides, claw-like, as he bares his teeth.

“And what did I do? What did I do when was staring directly at the Eye? Tell me, Martin, since you _apparently_ saw it all.”

Martin can feel his whole body shaking.

“I walked away,” Jon plows on, “I walked away from it. Yes, I was considering it, but I still left that room. I made that choice, I am still making that choice. As soon as I was able to calm down, I knew I wouldn’t do it. I was going to find you and apologise and figure out another way. That’s what I did.”

“I-I know, Jon,” Martin stutters, “I know you’re trying, I can see that, I was just worried about you. Between that and the smiting-”

“That was your idea!” Jon cries.

“I know, I know-!”

“I did that for _you_! Because you asked me to do something, and that was all I could-!” Jon presses a hand to his chest, “And I’m the one who wanted to stop it, because- because… yes, yes, I did enjoy it. And I hated that I did. I couldn’t- I couldn’t be that anymore.”

Jon’s anger leaves him quickly, swiftly replaced by something that looks like grief. He is shaking too now. One hand creases his shirt where it is twisted up in it. He looks at Martin with wide eyes.

“W-What do I have to do?” To Martin’s horror, there are tears in his voice, “What do I have to do for you to trust me? Say it, say it, I’ll try to do it, please, p-please… I can’t, I can’t lost you because of- please…”

His eyes are bright and damp. Martin feels his heart being slowly ripped to shreds. 

Temptation from his god did not make Jon cry. A full-fledged avatar of the Web did not make him beg. Martin has managed to do both. Jon looks like a single word from Martin could shatter him. He hates the power he holds over him. 

Martin shuts his eyes for a moment and tries to control his breathing. He wants to say this right.

“Jon,” The man flinches at the sound of his own name, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I need to apologise properly,” Martin insists, “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I shouldn’t have compared you to Jonah. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m so sorry, Jon.”

Jon stares at him, incredulous.

“I need to take responsibility for the things I did. Because, y-yeah, I did egg you on a bit without… without really thinking about it. I’m sorry.”

Jon looks away.

“…I’m sorry for walking off with Annabelle. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I… I promise to try. To do better- To trust you more.”

“I-” Jon bites off his own words. He leans towards Martin then sways back, unsure.

Martin isn’t certain if he is allowed, but he holds his arms out to Jon slightly. Jon’s shoulders hitch in an aborted sob and he throws himself at Martin. He wraps his arms around his waist like an octopus and buries his face in his shoulder.

“Oh! Oh, Jon…”

Martin holds him close, one arm braced around his back, the other cradling his head.

“I’m sorry,” He apologises into Jon’s hair, pressing his face into the top of his head.

“Enough, enough,” Jon dismisses him weakly, “I just- I was so scared Martin. When I heard Cane had you- Our last conversation was an argument and I never would have forgiven myself if that-” 

He cuts himself off and Martin knows he is trying to stop himself from crying.

“Me too. I- I knew I was in the wrong the second you walked away. I was so scared, and I lashed out and- Ugh. I feel so bloody stupid.”

Jon shushes him, rubs a hand down his back.

They stay like that for a while. Holding each other and catching their breaths. Martin feels Jon’s heartbeat settle into an even rhythm again. It seems astounding to him in this moment how he could have ever walked away from him. There is nowhere he wants to be more than in Jon’s embrace.

With a sniffle, Jon leans back slightly and holds both of Martin’s hands in his own. 

“You, ah, you said you’ll try to trust me?”

“I will, I swear.”

“Mm. Y-You remember how before we went up to the Panopticon? You, uh, you called me ‘humanity’s only hope’?”

Martin winces.

“Yeah… I’m sorry for that too.”

“Yes…b-because I- I can’t be that, Martin. I need you to help me. I need us to be a team. No matter what happens next, I need us to do it together. And… we need to trust each other.”

“We will,” Martin lifts one of Jon’s hands and kisses it firmly, “I’ve decided.”

"You've decided?"

“Yup. No more doubt, no more fighting. We’re all in this now, and whatever the next step is, we all take it.”

Jon’s smile is weak.

“Okay.”

“Okay!”

Martin pulls him in for another hug.

“Thank you,” Jon mumbles in his ear.

“Thank you,” Martin shoots right back, “For giving me another chance.”

“Isn’t that my line?”

“Hush.”

Martin kisses him on the mouth. Jon tastes like stale beer and he relishes it. 

The thought of what is to come is overwhelming. Martin knows the only way he will get through is with Jon by his side. Something in his heart still quails at the idea of entrusting the world to him. Martin swears on his own life that if it ever rears its ugly head again, he won’t let it guide his hand. He will choose to trust Jon, to talk with him and not let his temper control him. 

Jon kisses back, melting into his arms, and Martin privately marvels at how easily Jon seems to have forgiven him.

Jon has shown his faith in him time and time again. Holding him close, Martin makes a silent promise to try and be worthy of it.


End file.
